Your name is 'Revenge'
by shikhye
Summary: Madara kidnaps Hashirama's baby daughter to breed his own revenge. Hashimada, Itasasu, major Uchihacest. Here, the men of the Uchiha clan are obsessed with incest, and Madako suffers for it. Oedipus complex, dark obsessions with father figures, paedophilia, rape...
1. Chapter 1

The Uchiha Clan. The dark hair, pale faces, sternly set lips. A Noble family of Konoha, along with the Hyuuga, the Akimichi and the Aburame. Most beautiful and dangerous of the four. Their fireball jutsus would arise from their lips and brush up flames as tall as the mountains. The stark white and red of the fan that was their clan symbol was proudly emblazoned on their backs. But most astounding of all, the Sharingan, one of the three Blessed Eyes, glowing red with one, two, three tomoe swirling and shining. The beautiful and damned Uchihas. Black hair, ominous eyes with long lashes, a strong and tall stature. And cursed. Absolutely corrupted and ruined by the Curse of Hatred, and equally by the lust they felt for one another, wanting not a woman's soft curves, but a warrior's body, with strong lines up and down, sculpted muscles under scarred flesh. Wanting most of all, an Uchiha's body, one like their own, for the Uchiha loved themselves. Thus, out of uncontrollable lust for their own and others like them, brother fell for brother, and the women of the Uchiha were left unloved and unwanted.

Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Shisui, Uchiha Sasuke.

And… _Uchiha Madara._

The Uchiha men I have met, for bad or worse. Entangled in their love affairs, snatched up, then discarded. Used? Like I was a river, they washed their dirt and filth off themselves through me, but I wasn't a river, I was a well, hiding deep secrets, and all they did was contaminate me, making me into a horror, an abomination.

Listen to the twisted tale.

:::

::

:

It had been easy.

Madara was in a safe place, and the pursuers were miles away. Hidden in a cave, in the dark, his muscles tightly wound up, his breathing hitched and ragged, he held a small sleeping baby in his arms. Arms shaking, he held his breath, and peered into its face. There she lay, a year old, eyes tightly shut in sleep. The firstborn daughter of Hashirama Senju and Mito Uzumaki.

Ha. _Ha._

Incredulity swept over Madara like a wave crashing onto a still beach. His revenge lay sweetly oblivious in his arms. His new weapon. His living biological treasure. He wanted to scream. Shout, laugh hysterically, throw the child up in the air and catch it. But he stayed stock still, and watched the baby breathe. There was something in the way it lay so innocently and trustingly in his arms that caused to take one breath after another, laboriously. The small weight represented the enormity of what he had just done.

'So this is it, Hashirama,' he breathed. 'You and Mito's lovechild.'

A mirthless smile twitched into being. His grip tightened on the child.

'This is where it begins.'

Then Madara really began to laugh. Incredulous, exulting, triumphant, fearful. Crazed. The baby's face winced, and the tiny body stirred. Madara stared at it thoughtfully.

'Now, what should your name be? 'Yume', because you are a dream of mine that must be fulfilled? Or 'Akumu', because you will be the nightmare of the Senjus?' Madara bit into his terse, crazy smile. 'Or 'Madako'? After your new father?'

_Madako…_

Madara's grin widened.

'Madako' it was.

Miles away, Hashirama Senju and the rest of his men were combing the land, desperate. None of their pain or disbelief touched Madara, and the newly christened Madako, her fate uncertain and shifting.


	2. Chapter 2

_Madako._

_Madako._

_Madako._

Madara's child. His experiment. His revenge.

What Madara wanted most of all, was to attain the Rinnegan. The most incredible and rare dojutsu there is. Only attainable through a descendant of both the Senju and the Uchiha. Madako was a Senju. Madara intended to change that…

And he did. Every day, through some means only he knew, he fed his DNA into the bloodstream of the baby, using unknown, forbidden, dark techniques. Kinjutsu. Out of the two things that happened next, one Madara was expecting, and one he was not. He was expecting that some physical change would appear in the baby – her appearance would become less of the proud, neatly clear cut beauty of the Senju's, but also darker, wilder, dangerous, like the Uchihas. Every day, he worked to displace some of the Senju DNA, and replace it with his. And it worked visibly. Madako's hair grew progressively darker, and it was not just a figment of his imagination when she grew less fine-boned, more like the Uchiha with their strong, determined faces.

The thing he did not expect was for little Madako's development rate to speed up dramatically. Maybe it was the fact that the Senju and Uchiha blood mixed together did wondrous things, maybe it was the techniques he was using on her – it was unclear. What was blindingly obvious, however, was that a year later, 2 year old Madako had the appearance of a five year old, and later, the 3 year old Madako had the appearance of a 9 year old. She was growing up, fast. Madara estimated that when she was 6, Madako was probably look like she was 16. Madara had no idea what would happen afterwards. Would she carry on her unnatural maturity, and die of 'old age' at age 20? It was too early to tell.

Also, her intelligence. Again, nothing prepared Madara for it. But Madako was the most extreme prodigy he had or ever would encounter. Along with her heightened speed of growth, came an unprecedented growth in mental prowess. Words, sentences, perfect speech came almost at once. Madara found himself having perfectly serious and in depth conversations with a 3 year old (but in appearance 6 year old) young girl. It was surreal, but then again, most things felt like he was in a genjutsu - training his enemy's daughter as if she were his own, a girl who grew at an alarming rate, alone together in a mountain he was certain they would be left alone. Grasping his luck, he taught her everything he knew – all his taijutsu, and ninjutsu. And when Madako's Sharingan awoke when she was four, dojutsu and genjutsu. The two of them would stand and stare at each other with their Sharingan, seeing every intended movement before it was completed. He held Madako's tiny hands and taught her the seals for the Uchiha's kekkei genkai, 'Blaze release', teaching her how to blow her fire sure and strong. And he left her to figure out Hashirama Senju's kekkei genkai, the astounding 'Wood Release', for her own, helping her whenever he could. Now, Hashirama was not the only shinobi with that jutsu. Madako had it too.

Madara's regard for the child changed over time. When Madako was a baby, he fed her, and kept her alive as best as he could, but only because he needed to rear her up as his revenge. He was often exasperated and enraged by her baby cries for love and warmth. Indeed, at first Madara had no sympathy or love for Madako, seeing her as the product of Hashirama and Mito Uzumaki, whom he hated with a passion. Indeed, he often wondered whether to just end Madako's life, and take revenge for that. But he waited patiently, because something told him that good things would happen to those who waited.

And he did, and saw how Madako grew, and watched with amazement as her hair darkened into the raven-black of the Uchiha's, and her eyes as she gazed back at him with trust that looked so much like his younger brother Izuna's, when the brothers had been young and innocent.

Who would have known it was Madara Uchiha, if they'd watch him and Madako in their cave in the mountains? The way that they cooked and ate their breakfast in the mornings, a tiny serious girl with dark hair, and the man with long wild hair yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The way that she would tug at his hair and demand that they go outside. The way that Madara would sweep the tiny girl into his arms when she had set yet again another massive tree in flames. The way Madako would wrap her 'daddy' up in roots using the 'Wood Release' technique, and laugh and clap her hands when he woke up from his afternoon nap and found he couldn't move. The way they practised controlling their chakra so that little Madako could walk and dance on the water's surface. The way they sat and watched the sunset, Madara's arm around her little body, holding her close while the evening cooled the earth around them, and he told her stories about the Great Sage of Six Paths, and the 9 tailed beasts, and how the Sharingan came to be. The way Madara tucked Madako up into bed, and stayed up for hours afterwards, watching the flames of their fire flicker warm light over the pale little face.

:::

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:

At, least that's how I remember it. Looking back with hindsight, I doubt everything was as sugar-coated as I have said it was above. I doubt... I doubt that Madara was as tender as I thought him to be, because I was still emotionally naive, however intelligent I was back then. Hindsight is a painful but powerful thing. And the more I look back, the more I doubt.

My daddy. My father.

I still remember those days up in the mountains. Looking back, I now know how perfectly happy I was. Was there ever a moment we were unhappy? Dear father… We used to spend every hour together. That's how it was. Nothing out there could harm me if you were there. You made me laugh by cooking the fish we caught using our kunai with your 'blaze release'. You made me laugh by swirling your Mangekyo Sharingan in your eyes. What happened, daddy? Where did it all go? Did you not care for me at all?

It ended one day when I was four. No, Daddy insisted that I was twelve. Twelve. I remember the last evening we spent together. If only I'd known it was the last!

'Madako…' You held my face between your hands.

'Father?' I smiled obliviously between your fingers.

'Nothing.' I still remember the smile you gave me, a brief flicker in your eyes that I registered but only later understood. Understood when it was too late. 'Time for your bedtime.' He lifted me up and placed me in bed. 'Goodnight.'

I even wonder if that encounter was just a figment of my fertile imagination, desperate to imagine that Madara actually loved me.

The next morning, I woke up on the ground outside the gates of Konoha, in the morning fog, the huge gates looming at me. I had no idea where I was, and I was utterly alone. I cried out for my father, but there was no reply. That fateful day somewhere in February ended my idyllic life the mountains with my father, and began my cold, lonely life in Konoha, and the ninja academy.

And one more thing.

Ever since I've remembered, my father's name was 'Nobody'. I grew up thinking and believing that was his actual given name, and feeling no reason to disbelieve it.

When the laughter of the other kids began, I realized that his name was a lie.

_Nothing._

_Nobody. _


	3. Chapter 3

'The kids are laughing at Madako again,' sighed Iruka, looking up from his borrowed copy of 'Icha Icha: Flirtation Paradise'. His friend Hatake Kakashi looked up.

'Eh? Who's that?'

Iruka pointed. Kakashi turned his head. In the courtyard outside the Academy was a small huddle of children. Kakashi couldn't see the girl called 'Madako' because of the children's bodies clustered around. With a sigh, Iruka got up, and walked outside, Kakashi by his side. They could hear snatches of the taunts.

'What's your father's name again, Madako?'

'Nobody's child?! Haha!'

'Crazy… You're crazy!'

'Where'd 'Nobody' go, then, crazy?'

_'Hey!_ Cut it out!'

At the approach of the stern-eyed sensei, the kids turned and slouched off, tossing remarks at one another, and the remaining immobile girl standing alone. Kakashi looked curiously at her. For a twelve year old, she was of average height. Her black hair was silky, but was beginning to get tangled at the edges. Her clothes were non-descript. Her face, however, was not, as Kakashi found out as soon as she turned her face towards them. Unlike the other girls of her age, such as Yamanaka Ino or Haruno Sakura, her face wasn't cutesy or ostentatiously pretty. But Madako's skin was clear as a moonlit surface, and the darkness of her eyes and eyebrows highlighted the paleness of her skin, and the carefully shaped lines of her face. Her eyes. She turned towards the two older shinobi, and gazed up at them silently.

'Were they bothering you, Madako?' Although Iruka's voice was kind, Madako made no response. In fact her face was completely emotionless. After another moment of silence, Madako lowered her eyes, and walked off. Iruka made no attempt to stop her. They watched her retreat into the distance, her small frame moving away at a quick pace not obvious from her graceful movement.

Iruka sighed.

'An orphan, we're guessing. Like Naruto. But unlike Naruto, she's as tight as a clam. Terribly quiet.'

'How's she doing at school?'

'Perfectly. Above average. She's gonna graduate soon with no trouble. But… such a mystery.'

At Kakashi's questioning look, Iruka explained.

'Dunno where she's from. Appeared a few months ago outside Konoha. Whenever she's questioned she can only describe… mountains. That's all. And her father, who according to her is called 'Nobody'. Probably a nutcase, from the sound of it.'

_But could a nutcase's child be so cool and collected_?

:::

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:

I live alone.

In a village I was thrown into without a moment's notice. After the academy, I go home. While the other kids go home to parents, warm food, laughter and love, I go home to my empty flat, make my own dinner, sleep alone. And sometimes, I dream. And every time, I dream of him. Him and our mountain.

_'Madako…'_

_Such a soft voice, a voice that fills me with hope and joy and love. I turn around, and there, just there, is my father. I run into his arms, I feel like crying when I feel his arms around me, heavy and warm. His laugh shakes his chest under my cheek._

_'Father!'_

_Like always, hand in hand to our cave. I love my father's hands, they're slim, and perfectly curved and tapered, but hold such strength. _

_'Madako…'_

_'What is it, father?'_

_'I love you. I love you so much. You know that, right? I love you, and I'll always be here. I love you, Madako.'_

_His words drown me into a sweet delirium. He loves me, he loves me, he'll always be there, he loves me. I love him too. I love you. I reach up and stroke his hair that gets so tangled. His slow smile grows and widens. And then… and then… A slow pressure on my forehead. And a coldness when his lips leave my face and the cold air fills the empty space._

_::_

I always wake up at that moment. I always find an empty bed beside me, no one to hold me. The disappointment and the grief hits me hard, every time like the first time, and I grit my sobs together, and pound the pillow, my angry tears drenching the crook of my arm. Because father never said those words to me. Perhaps he never loved me.

Again and again, I scream inside of me, Why? What was wrong with me? Why aren't I good enough? Why did he leave me here, alone, so horribly alone? I can't mix with the other children. How can I, when I become murderous with rage whenever the rush home begins every afternoon? How can I be friends with someone who has a father who's there waiting at home, when my own is… When my own is…

_Gone._

_Nowhere._

_Nobody._

I look around, but there is no one with the red eyes, no one who can breathe fire. I have never dared to, never dared do anything that father taught me. I don't want to share with everyone else what father taught me first hand. When I close my eyes, I can remember the warmth of his hands over mine, teaching me seals. And I'm seized with an unutterable longing for him, my father. I need his strength, his approval, his love. No one but him can fill the void in my heart.

Thus every night scrunched up under the covers, arms wrapped tight around myself, hot tears flooding my pillow, legs folded in half. I hug my pillow like a person, and if I pretend real hard, the pillow becomes my father.


	4. Chapter 4

So far, what have we covered? I have told you of my origins, I have told you how it was I came to Konoha. All this I discovered much later, much later, in painful ways. I don't have to explain just yet. But even yet, there is so much more to tell. So much more to say. For instance, how I came to meet Itachi, Shisui and Sasuke. They will be important.

It was a Saturday, the day I met Uchiha Itachi for the first time.

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:

One fateful day, when I decided to go the mountains outside Konoha, to try and escape from the claustrophobic city, and my constricted feelings. I wanted to feel like I was home. I wanted to imagine I was with him.

So I ran.

I ran without purpose, without reason, like a wild animal, I ran straight out of the city, and into the forest. I ran until I could feel the blood pounding within me, and I refused to stop until my lungs threatened to collapse. I fell to the ground somewhere in the woods. I shuddered violently with my heaving breaths, eyes tightly closed. Time passed. Gradually my muscles slackened. My tongue travelled weakly around my mouth, trying to get rid of the aching dry feeling. And then, I opened my eyes.

The forest. Mountain air. No sign of anybody.

Utter peace.

I gazed mute around me, amazed that I'd done it. I was in the mountains again. Konoha was wiped out of my mind in an instant. I looked around at the forest, the undergrowth, no one here except myself. _And him._ If I closed my eyes, imagined hard enough, he was there in the corner of my eye. Smiling. Encouraging me to…. Me to…

Automatically, frantically, my hands formed seals, moving more quickly than they had done before, with a sense of urgency. Heat rose in my throat, and when it threatened to sear my tongue, I blew out.

A torrent of fire tore from my lips, and engulfed the few trees in front of me.

My eyes stung from the heat, but I refused to look away. _There, father. I did it._

_Are you proud of me?_

Beside me, the ghostly picture of my father smiled. I could almost feel a pressure on my shoulders, his proud slim fingers resting on me.

'Yes, Madako. I'm proud of you.'

Crazy, I was indeed. Tears stung my nose and eyes. I laughed shakily. The trees in front were smouldering, orange and black flickering and destroying itself. I wanted more. I wanted to burn the whole forest down. My hands were already forming the seals, nearly there, nearly there…

::

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_'Sasuke!'_

The cry tore through the forest, violent and shocked. I stopped what I was doing, and turned around in a fright. A tall boy was running towards me in a blur, faster than I could see without my Sharingan. He grabbed me before I could make a sound, turning me violently towards him, hands digging painfully into my shoulders.

And his eyes.

_His eyes._

The two of us stood stock still in the middle of the forest, realizing. The boy had realized his mistake by now. He gingerly let go of me, the worry and the anger dispersing into confusion, then as quickly into impassiveness, hiding his expression. His eyes scanned over my body, taking in my short unbrushed hair like a boys, my grubby knees from where I had fallen onto the forest floor, my scared eyes. He looked back and forth from me, to the trees still burning and crackling behind us, the only sound in the forest. Then, moving like lightning he stepped right past me, and towards the trees. He made seals. A gush of water erupted out of nowhere, from the boys lips, and swathed the burning trees. There was an almighty scream and hiss of dying flame, and all at once, my handiwork crumbled, and was put out. Puddles of ashy water were the only evidence now, that and the blackened smoke lazily weaving over our heads. He turned around again and stared at me.

'Who are you?'

_What a question to ask._ I heard it vaguely in my subconscious, but made no reply. I looked dumbly at the tall boy. There were many things I could have thought about. I only thought about them later, remembering his slim, strong stature, the cool milky skin visible at his throat and collarbones, the paleness of his beautiful hands ending in black nail polish, the deepness of his voice. His black hair dashed down his face, the rest of it hanging in a ponytail behind him. All these things I thought about later. Because I could only concentrate on his eyes.

_Sharingan._

His black eyebrows frowned, and the red glow of his eyes burned into mine. One, two, three tomoe. Swirling in the blessed eyes. I was delirious with my discovery. Sharingan. This boy has the Sharingan. Like my father. _Like my father._

'Who are you?' repeated the tall boy again. His voice was deep and menacing, breaking into my reverie. Somehow I replied.

'Madako.'

'Madako…' He nodded slowly. I couldn't take my eyes off him. The red eyes, the black hair, the pale face. Seemingly an echo of… I gulped. He reminded me of my father. I held my breath. 'Madako, where are your parents? Who is your father?'

I opened my mouth to say… To say….

_Nobody._

'I don't know.' I settled for the answer that was the more normal. The one that answered everything about my life.

'You did this?'

He gestured at the blackened, crumbling trees. My head jerked up and down. Yes, I'd done that. Slowly, I watched the boy's slim white fingers rise to his chest. His hands slowly formed symbols. The symbols for 'Blaze release'. My eyes widened. He caught my reaction. 'Like… this?' Wordlessly, I nodded. His Sharingan scathed over me, inspecting me once more. I felt vulnerable and jittery under his gaze, which was as calculating and sharp as a razor slice. Sharingan. Sharingan.

_Sharingan._

A sting on my eyes. I felt the blackness recede from my eyes, and be replaced by the Sharingan. It was involuntary, I hardly knew why. He looked like father. That was reason enough. I wanted to prove it to him, say, 'Look, you have the same eyes as me!' My heightened sense of clarity focused on the boy's face. And this time, I could catch the flicker of surprise. Our Sharingans measured each other up.

'Madako… Do you have a last name?' The deep voice broke the silence. I didn't know how he was looking at me. Revulsion? Excitement? Incredulity?

_Nobody._

'No.'

The boy looked at me for one moment. He said quietly,

'Uchiha.'

It meant nothing to me, this name. So why this reverence in his eyes when he looked at me?

'You are an Uchiha.'

How could you describe how I was feeling? I had just set a portion of the forest of fire, I had just met another person who had the Sharingan. Now I was being assigned a surname, this new knowledge as unexpected as this chance meeting in the middle of nowhere. I felt exhausted. I slumped visibly. I felt a grip on my upper arm, holding me up. The strange boy was now only inches away.

'Come, Madako. There are things I'd like to tell you.' He kept his grip on my shoulder. I was too tired to think. He let me back down the mountain.

'My name is Itachi,' he said. My Sharingan imprinted his name and his face into my memory. He smiled. 'Like you, I'm an Uchiha.'

:

_He's an Uchiha. Not 'Nobody'. And I'm an Uchiha. I'm not 'Nobody', anymore._


	5. Chapter 5

The flat I followed Itachi to was spacious, clean, a higher level of living. He opened the door, and took off his shoes, raking a pale hand through the black strands in his ponytail. I followed his example, keeping my eyes fixed on his head. His slender back advanced forward. In the living room, he sat down on a sofa, and motioned for me to sit beside him. I did so, keeping my distance. Like a fool, I just kept staring at his face, the juxtaposition of black hair and pale skin. And red eyes. Father… Oh father…

And he stared back. What did he see?

A very feminine looking boy, perhaps. My hair was short, only reaching my chin, and with no one around to take care of it, I did look like a boy. My skinny shoulders from an insufficient diet. Knees tense and bunched together. My face, pinched and pale, huge dark eyes. Red eyes.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Perhaps he had forgotten what he was going to say. And then, he moved, as if compelled by something other than himself. Covering the distance between us quickly, he was suddenly close, very close to me, close enough I could feel the heat of his skin, close enough that our Sharingan were inches apart. Itachi lifted up his hand, and laid it on my cheek. I felt the soft warmth of it on my face. He caressed his face with his finger and thumb. I felt his fingertips tremble slightly. His fingers ran along my jawline, trembled across my chin, settled on my lips. And then with his other hand, he ran his fingers ever so slightly down my neck, along my collar bone, so gently as if he was stroking a moth. My whole body was tense as a spring. I knew what this was, somewhere deep inside me, but I had no idea how to react. Because the Sharingan staring into mine was beginning to cloud over with, something like, something like uncontrollable…

'Beautiful…' It came out almost like a choke, unwillingly, hopelessly. Itachi face hovered close, so close. Hands sifted through my hair, gently tugging. Again and again, his Sharingan settled on my parted lips, parted with surprise, and uncertainty. The milky paleness of his skin grew closer, and his lips ghosted on my forehead, and beside my right ear.

Perhaps it was my yelp of surprise that started it. Or my weak fingers pushing against Itachi's chest, my only show of resistance. Perhaps something snapped internally within Itachi. Because the next moment, it changed. A ripple of force, and the next moment, I was lying on my back on the sofa, and Itachi was on top of me, and I could feel his mouth heavy and wet on mine. I cried out for real this time, but he shut me up, his mouth enveloping mine, his tongue muffling my helpless cries, his fingernails iron in my arms. I panicked, but I could not move. My eyes were frozen open, his own were half shut, unrecognisable with… uncontrollable desire.

He attacked again and again with his mouth, biting my lips, kissing my neck and shoulders with bruising force, biting my shoulders and bringing red marks with shocking clarity onto my skin. And I could feel his deep, strange moans vibrate onto my skin, and his body, the whole weight of him crushed me underneath, he rubbed his body up and down mine. When I tried one last time to escape, he stopped me as easily as thinking, holding my wrists together with one hand, while with the other, he grabbed at my shirt impatiently. He slid his hand underneath my shirt, clenching his fingers into my flesh. His heavy breathing echoed into my ears. I couldn't get him off me, he was going to… He was going to…

'Oh the sin…'

I could make out the broken words escaping his fevered breathing. His hands rucked up my shirt, exposing my stomach, my flat chest.

'You… I want to…' His head ducked down. I could feel his hot mouth on my stomach, biting and sucking, his tongue on my nipples. His eyes drank me in, me in the floor, hair splayed, mouth swollen, eyes terrified, skin marked with lovebites. Itachi moaned outright. His hands slipped down to the waist band of my trousers. The point of no return.

'I want to _fuck_ you… You're _mine_…'

Did I only imagine those words? Did those beautiful lips really say such things?

The doorbell rang. It echoed around the flat, shocking the both of us. I felt him grit his teeth. He screwed his eyes shut. I knew he had an erection, I could feel it pressing into me, I could feel his self resolve crumbling and reforming and crumbling again. The doorbell rang again, impatiently. Slowly he raised his head, his eyes clearing somewhat. It was then he saw me as I really was, a 'twelve' year old girl lying beneath him, whom he was already mind-fucking. I saw his eyes go blank. The doorbell rang, like a recurring nightmare. Finally he got up. He yanked me upright, pulling my shirt down and hiding the incriminating marks, methodically fixing my hair, and his own. He pulled his shirt down over his erection, and then ran for the door. I stood, unsteady on my feet, my heart hammering quickly, quickly, a numbness over everything. I felt nothing, I thought nothing. I stood there as Itachi ran for the door.

'Nii-san!'

I could hear voices coming through the door, towards me, and the sight of Itachi and a boy of about my age. I recognised him by sight as someone from the academy. Uchiha Sasuke. The smile on Sasuke's face evaporated once he came into the room and saw me. I could almost read his thoughts. What? The crazy girl? In my house? His expression turned sour, he turned towards his brother.

'What is she doing here?' He pointed a finger at me.

'She's an Uchiha, Sasuke.'

Sasuke greeted this piece of information with a new expression directed at me, of both the initial disgust and confusion. 'She's not an Uchiha, nii-san, she's…'

I'm guessing at that point he saw my Sharingan, because he stopped short without finishing his sentence.

'If she wants, she can stay here with us.'

It was my turn to stare at Itachi with shock. He seemed unperturbed, too settled. I avoided flipping my gaze to see if his erection was still there. The mental picture of him moaning against me pounded into my head. He looked back at me steadily.

'After, the Uchiha should stick together.'

He smiled slightly for the first time at me. Sasuke looked at me without a word. Then scowling, he flounced off, and disappeared into his room. Itachi remained. 'That is, if she would like to…' he intoned gently. A moment where he looked at me. A flash burned in an instant in his eyes, and was gone. Without a word, he turned and disappeared somewhere else. By a bizarre turn of events, I was left alone in the living room. I stared at the spot where a few minutes before, 18-year old Itachi Uchiha had been touching my body, biting, violating.

At this point, you'd wonder – why didn't I run away? Why didn't I just take the opportunity to leave and sob, leave the place I'd almost been raped? I can guess your thoughts – I'd asked for it. I was a little slut, I was a whore. I hadn't screamed, fought back, clawed at Itachi's face. It was all my fault, you'd say. Slut. Whore.

Please keep in mind, I was 'twelve'. No, I was four.

That is what I keep telling myself, anyway.

Because, there was another reason. This was the beginning of the end for me. Why did I stay? Because, in a twisted, violent, disgusting way… this was what I'd wanted. I'd wanted human touch for so long, someone to hug me, tell me they loved me. Specifically, I wanted father to do that.

This is where it gets twisted, where my mind fucked itself up.

Because, when Itachi had been in the process of raping me, it was no longer him. I'd changed it in my mind, so that it was not Itachi who was doing forbidden things to me, who was touching me all over with his hot, warm tongue, it was not Itachi who was shuddering against my body…

It was my father.


	6. Chapter 6

Uchiha stick together.

My back is against a cold wall. I'm looking into the spare room of Itachi and Sasuke's home. A room, supposedly, for me. I swallowed, and closed my arms over my cold skin. I thought about Itachi touching my cheek. I thought about Itachi kissing me and pushing me over onto my back. I thought about the way Sasuke looked at me. The hostility and disgust in his eyes. I heard a shuffle of feet, and looked up. There leaning against the doorframe was Itachi.

Instinctively, I shrank against the wall. The little bites on my neck throbbed with the memory. Unable to look away, I stared at him. He looked gravely at me, his arms hanging at his sides. His lashes shivered as he lowered his eyes, then raised them back to mine again. Where had all the passion gone? I wondered. He looked as cold as he had seemed from the start.

When he spoke finally, it came as a shock, to hear the deep, ever-so-soft voice emerging from the young, cruelly beautiful face. 'Forget what I did to you.'

And then, even more quietly,

'Forgive me.'

It would be the first time anyone had asked me for their forgiveness. I didn't make a reply, and it seemed like Itachi was not expecting one, because he drew back. How could one look so complacent, saying such things? The truth was, I was scared of Itachi. Scared of his hidden strength one didn't expect from the slender, pale body. But I was also fascinated by him. I had seen two completely different sides to him, in the space of a day. In the space of a day, he had spoken to me offhandedly, offered me a place to live, and had explored my body.

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:

I knew from the start that there was something behind the exterior appearance of this Itachi. An almost effeminate beauty in the shape of his eyes and mouth, the prettiness of his pale ear, the smoothness of his neck and shoulders, but then the leanness of his body, his sharp lines everywhere, and the intensity of his eyes spoke of something deeper. There was something broken underneath the skin, something rotten and hurt and aching and grievous. Something that would take, without giving back. I knew this so well I might as well have seen the cracks forming across Itachi's face. Like a minefield, the flowers and beautiful earth would explode with one false step, dismembering and incinerating you. Like a minefield, the urge to try your chances, see if you will be the one to make it across, is stronger than the fear of death. This is what I felt, and this is what I suspect Itachi made others feel about him, whether he wanted to or not.

:

Itachi stepped back into the shadows and away. Slowly, I slid down the wall to end up on the floor, my eyes staring still at the spot where his pale face had been. The hot, alien thoughts began to flood my mind slowly. I shut my hands over my ears, deafened by my own heartbeat. Itachi… this untouchable boy… Why did he want to touch me so much? Why did he just grab me and… My eyes widened, and I shook my head to clear my thoughts, chase the sordid details of the previous hour away. I was beginning to feel choked up, and claustrophobic. Why did it have to be so complicated? I knew it was wrong of him to touch me like that, I knew that it was revolting, forbidden, wrong, wrong, so why had he done it? My young mind wanted to know, yet did not want to at the same time. I crammed my fist into my mouth, biting hard. I rubbed hard at my sore neck, as if I could get rid of what had happened if I pretended hard enough. In the midst of the upcoming panic attack, I felt another's presence, and for the second time I looked up to see another Uchiha's dark, mistrustful eyes directed straight at me, arms crossed, spiky hair criss-crossing his face. It was Sasuke, not his brother, and for a terrible moment I debated within myself whether I was relieved or not.

Sasuke looked at me, his emotions descriptively colouring his face, unlike his brother, who kept his emotions behind a walled expression. He looked coldly at me, as I was shivering against the wall, legs curled up to my chin. Under his judging face, I got up, my legs shaking, making an effort to look normal. I tried to lean casually against the wall, but in reality I was unnerved by the expression on his face. He's the same age as you, I kept reminding myself. He's not going to hurt you.

'Come on. If you're going to live with us, you've got to get your stuff.'

This was delivered in a deadpan voice, with a shabbily disguised effort to sound pleasant. I nodded. Sasuke's eyes narrowed, his mouth drawing itself into a line. He turned without a word, and I followed his spiky head of black hair, his slightly hunched up stance. He walked without waiting for me. As he opened the door of the apartment, I looked behind me at the empty house. No Itachi in sight.

All the way home, Sasuke kept his hands sullenly in his pockets, me keeping a safe distance behind him, watching his catlike prowl with wide eyes. At some point he whirled around, dark eyes flashing.

'How am I supposed to know where we're going if you keep on walking behind me?' he snapped, in somewhere between a growl and a mutter. I apologised under my breath, and caught up to walk beside him. I wondered what made him look at me with something that looked so much like disgust. Was it my rough and dishevelled appearance? Was it because my messy was hair a parody of his own sleek spikes? Was it because my whole body seemed to flinch whenever I felt his gaze on me, and my posture was so awkward? Was it because that we were the same height and that he couldn't look down on me as he might have wished?

'You look like you haven't washed in days.'

His offhand judgement came crashing down on me like a ton of bricks. Without meaning too, I whipped my head to face him, my wide eyes meeting his unconcerned ones. My hand itched to fix my hair, rub at the dirt on my knees, lick my chapped lips. But I knew to do so would be admitting defeat. So I held myself back.

'I fell over in the forest.'

Sasuke seemed momentarily surprised that I'd spoken. Then he merely said, shrugging his shoulders, 'Good ninjas don't fall over.' I felt the stab at my skills. Anger rose up quietly. I'd never shown what I could do in the academy. It had never occurred to me to throw a fireball at the blackboard, or to wrap Iruka-sensei in roots, or to summon the myriad of creatures that I knew would come if I called. I'd never wanted to attract attention to myself. I let that Naruto take all the attention with his jokes and shit shadow replication. But Sasuke's offhand brush off of my skills annoyed me. He hardly knew me at all, so why should he make judgments?

He doesn't have the Sharingan yet, I remembered suddenly. Imperceptibly, I summoned my Sharingan. I felt the sting in the backs of my eyes as the red emerged, and my full Sharingan span in my eyes, with all three tomoe. I watched the world with heightened clarity, hoping to show Sasuke, the Konoha's 'number one rookie', that I could do something that he could not, without actually telling him.

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'This,' said Sasuke, with unhidden disbelief, 'is where you live?'

We stood in front of the dilapidated apartment complex with its broken floor tiles and shaky balconies. Hoping my cheeks wouldn't show the shame I felt, I simply marched past him, trying to be haughty, hoping I didn't just look embarrassed. Bloody Uchiha, I thought, walking up to my door, and then I remembered that I was an Uchiha too. That was weird. I closed my eyes and breathed for a moment. Konoha's noble family. Uchiha. The memory of Sasuke's pretty flat with the tatami and shoji screens, and delicate rice papered walls flashed before my eyes, before I entered my own flat, which was never locked because there was honestly nothing worth stealing. I could feel rather than see Sasuke's disapproval of my living conditions. It was normal for me, but for Sasuke, he wasn't used to seeing cracked, peeling walls, the serious lack of furniture, the finished packs of instant ramen noodles stacked up on the floor. In fact, the more I looked around, the more I realized that there wasn't really any reason for my return. What I owned was what I was wearing, and the holey pillow and blanket, the pair of chopsticks. That was it. This time, Sasuke was tactful enough not to mention my borderline poverty living conditions, which I gave him credit for. Instead, there was an airy,

'Not much to take, eh?'

'Hn.'

I tried to read his expression, but he was too absorbed at looking at where I lived. I looked around too, trying to say goodbye. I wonder if I'd ever miss it. I thought of my lonely nights, missing my father, the lonely meals, the cold mornings where my breath came out in steam. I looked at Sasuke. He was arrogant, and cold, and I little elitist, but he was company, if you could call it that. He made no objection to following me back out, and then I shut the door of my past life behind me.

:::

Sasuke looked at Madako in the light outside her flat again, and noticed the Sharingan in her eyes. At once, all thoughts of her miserable flat disappeared with her eyes, and was replaced by what he could only acknowledge to be burning jealousy. Narrowing his eyes, he put on his customary scowl and slouched off without along the road, without looking back to see if she was following. Pretentious bitch. What made her think she was so special with those fancy little eyes.

_Because_, Sasuke's mind told him in an annoying little voice in the back of his mind, _that makes her a prodigy. It takes years for Uchiha to learn how to maintain Sharingan like that, like Itachi does constantly, and Madako's having no trouble with that. Also, she's got three tomoe for fuck's sake. It takes time to upgrade, and here she is, with fully matured Sharingan! And she's your age. And she's a girl. And she lives in a hovel with a madman for a dad. You loser_, jeered Sasuke's mind. To control his anger he kicked viciously at an innocent little tin can on the road. _Prodigy indeed_, retorted Sasuke back to his mind. She'll never be a good ninja. She looks as skinny and pale as a weed. Sasuke ignored the fact that he and Madako looked irritatingly similar. Even the shape of their shoulders and the little tufts of sticking up hair seemed to match, and Sasuke hated it.

And why had Itachi allowed her to stay in their house anyway? At the thought of his older brother, Sasuke's bad mood deepened. Did…. Did Itachi know she's a prodigy too? Of course he does. It that why… Suddenly Sasuke whipped around to stare suspiciously at Madako trailing after him. His eyes scraped the girl walking, hands in pockets, pale face turned to watch the ground, Sharingan softly glowing. Under his gaze, she flinched and looked up like a scared deer. Pitiful, thought Sasuke archly. He turned around triumphantly. Compared to him, Madako was nothing. Itachi was his aniki. Madako would be nothing to Itachi, nothing at all.

Consoled by his thoughts, Sasuke upped his speed and walked briskly back to his home, while Madako followed like a late shadow, dark thoughts and doubts pooling and forming as she walked, every step closer or further away from safety.


	7. Chapter 7

Oh Sasuke, Sasuke...

Looking back with hindsight, back at everyone, how it was then... What have we all become now? At the end of all things. Sasuke. Did I know from the start, did I suspect that you would were different, that you were someone who would be significant in my life, for better or worse? Back when we were twelve, did it all start then...? Wait and see, wait and see... there is much left in this tale to tell.

And here I introduce someone who I did not think much of when we first met, but who is significant later on. Or is significant too small a word? This how I met Uchiha Shisui, many, many years ago.

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Back at the Uchiha flat, Itachi was not waiting for them alone. Sasuke and Madako came in, and saw a boy talking earnestly with Itachi. Itachi glanced up when they came in, but the other boy didn't realise that the two had come in until Sasuke said,

'Hey, Shisui.'

Shisui turned around and looked at them. A boy with short curly hair, and lusciously long eyelashes, and the customary pale face and lean frame of the Uchiha, Shisui had a handsome face, and Madako thought, the most beautiful eyes. Sharingan…

'Sasuke-kun,' said Shisui in return, and then looked pointedly at Madako, whom Sasuke offhandedly introduced. Shisui looked from Sasuke to Madako, then back again. He was turning back to Itachi, when Itachi stood up from the table, and for a moment, Madako could see disappointment pass over Shisui's face.

'Madako,' came Itachi's deep soft voice, making her jump. She turned to face him, hoping that none of the tension she felt whenever he was near her showed in her body movements. But Itachi gave no sign of seeing her discomfort. His expression said nothing, and asked for nothing. 'This is my friend, Shisui. He comes over quite often.'

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The evening was wearing on. The two eighteen year olds and the two twelve year olds lounged in the living room peeling and eating soft, pale fruit. Sasuke sat in a relaxed pose in front of the low table, peeling his peaches with lightning speed, sending his erratic coils of fruit peel onto the table, and biting into the flesh of the peach, unconcerned with the juice running over his arms and elbows. Itachi lay rather than sat, propped onto his elbows, peeling his own fruit with long pale fingers and the sharp knife, making perfectly even, thin strips of peel. His long lithe form was so beautifully arranged, but so naturally, that he didn't seem to be aware of the image of innocent sexuality he was projecting, biting into his fruit, while his eyes lazily flicked from Sasuke to Madako, Madako to Sasuke, his fingers trembling just a little as he watched, slippery with juice. Madako, sitting a safe distance from Sasuke, knees drawn up in front of her, eating her fruit as quietly as possible, eyes cast down and watching the light glint on a knife on the table, her hair covering a portion of her face, her shoulders, although she was sitting down, clenched. And Shisui sat down, watching it all, his fruit forgotten, his appetite gone.

Without seeming to be, he was watching all three of them, his Sharingan missing none of it, none of the eye movements, body shuffling, bitten lips. He watched Sasuke obliviously devouring his fruit, thinking probably of jutsus and training from the blank unfocused look in his eyes, his shirt slipping down to reveal his collarbone and an expanse of creamy unblemished skin, impatiently licking down the whole length of his arm as the juice dripped from his elbows to his knees. He saw how Madako would never look up when Itachi was clearly looking at her, never looked up to meet his eyes, although she knew very well he was. Her face, Shisui thought, was young, and pale, and beautiful as a young girl's should be, with her pointed chin, and delicate features, and downcast eyes. And Shisui watched Itachi the most, took in the whole sight of his best friend, lying on his side, unconsciously exposing a thin line of the smooth skin on his stomach when his shirt rode up as he was reaching for another peach, watched the thin stream of black hair from his ponytail, watched Itachi's tongue lick and suck at the peach, while he never stopped looking at Sasuke and Madako.

Sasuke and Madako.

Shisui frowned. There was something odd going on, and it gave him a cold feeling up his spine, like there was someone glaring at him with 'killing intent'. He too turned his gaze to Sasuke and Madako. Sasuke, glorying in young beauty, his dark eyes already haughty and calculating, his nonchalant pose oozing his confidence, his knowledge of his own power and prowess. Madako so similar in looks, but different in aura, almost caving herself in, fear like a muted cloud around her. He could almost smell the fear on her skin. Sasuke and Madako. So similar. But there was something off, something painfully different and divided between the two children. And Shisui frowned, and then his eyes cleared and widened with shock as he realized something. Madako and Sasuke, both with such unruly black hair, and the same small, beautiful faces, the same shade of perfect skin, which ached to be touched. The same build, the same height, the same quiet solitude. These were the true similarities. Shisui realized this with stunning clarity as he watched the Uchiha brothers and Madako eating peaches. And the more he looked at Itachi, the more he could see that Itachi had realized this too. A twinge of pain twisted from the depths of Shisui's heart, but he did his best to ignore it. Casting his half-heartedly peeled peach aside, he stood up abruptly, a movement which caused all three of them to look at him with surprise.

'Going already?' said Itachi, getting up and stretching like a young cat, and watching as Madako and Sasuke collected the peach peelings and leftover peaches and carried them to the kitchen.

'It's getting late, Tachi.' Itachi nodded in response, and glanced over to the kitchen, and made a movement to go over there.

'Itachi,' said Shisui, involuntarily. Itachi turned his head in mild surprise.

'Yes?'

Shisui only looked at his best friend, his cruelly beautiful and desperately guarded friend, with confusion, several different sentences fighting to get out of his mouth. He only wished for Itachi to be happy. And for these means, he didn't want what he thought might happen to happen. Itachi needed to open up, reveal his scars, even though the extent of the damage in his soul might be shocking, Shisui would not be disgusted. All these thoughts rushing through his head made Shisui hesitate. He smiled, to lend him time.

'Goodnight. I won't be seeing you for a while, since I've got intensive training now.'

'Yes, Goodnight.' Itachi smiled a goodbye, and then walked off to the kitchen, leaving Shisui alone in the swiftly darkening living room, to show himself out, as he always did. This was normal, they saw each other so often anyway. Despite this, Shisui always secretly hoped he would turn around, but he never did. The memory of Madako's haunted little face, darkened with shadows, appeared in Shisui's mind. He wanted to race back to them in the kitchen, back to the light, grab Itachi by his shoulders and turn the attention of those mysterious eyes only to him. But of course, he did not, and only turned and left, leaving with doubt in his heart.

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	8. Chapter 8

There are only a few more things to say about my twelve year old life. This includes an incident that seems very petty to outsiders, but in reality, means so much more. It concerns Sasuke and I, and a fight. Why is it that after so many years I still remember every detail of that fight? I must have known, even subconsciously, what it really meant to have the two of us clash, for the first time. Unfortunately, I can say now, it would definitely not be the last time Sasuke and I would fight, mentally, physically. I wonder if the poison that seeped between us began here.

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In class, hearing Iruka-sensei's lesson only half-heartedly, I realized with a jolt that for the past five minutes my eyes had been fixated on the back of Sasuke's duck-ass head. Oops. As if he'd caught me watching, I averted my eyes, and tried to look at Kiba's hooded head… Or Shikamaru's odd pineapple bun thing… Or Chouji's underpants headgear… Or… Or… Naruto's impossibly yellow spikes like a mini fireball…

But then found my eyes being swept back onto Sasuke's head like a drowned man in a whirlpool. I stared at his head. How was it that although his hair stuck straight out from the back of his hair like it had been electrocuted, and although he had these crazy bangs framing both sides of his 'no-fucks' half closed eyes, and although he wore pretentious forearm thingies that looked as if they wouldn't protect him at all, despite this – Uchiha boy was by far and wide the coolest, most untouchable, and most tempting specimen of twelve year old boy available in Konoha. It was kind of inevitable, given how rare Uchiha are. It's like how women fight over a rare limited edition handbag. That's how the girls fought private little battles for Sasuke-kun's attention. I tended to ignore these, and I'd never participated. Hell, I'd never even thought about Sasuke that much in the past, really, I hadn't. So why now?

I recollected the walk to school. We ended up leaving at the same time. It was awkward for me, putting on my shoes, scuffing the ground, while Sasuke sailed on his merry way without a look behind him. I followed the duck-ass hair all the way to school, keeping a respectful distance behind his stalking back, his nonchalant hands in pockets almost-a-swagger-walk that keeps the schoolgirls drooling, and me frankly disturbed. As usual, I made no attempt to fall to his side to walk beside him, because I knew he wouldn't want me to. And Sasuke make no attempt to speak to me, or pay attention to me. I was fine with that. We entered school as usual: with no appearance of knowing each other.

Class finished. There was the yelling and chatter of kids, the rush to reach the door, Iruka-sensei running his hands down his tired, scarred face. I got up, one of the slow ones, following the others out, eyes trained on the floor. I wondered absently how it would feel to walk for the first time, not to the dishevelled flat I used to call 'home', but to the beautiful Uchiha flat on the other side of Konoha. Sasuke had long gone, I was sure. Well, I was sure until I realized why the schoolgirls were lingering around the entrance like that. Sasuke was standing impassively, hands in pockets, customary scowl and smoulder on his face. Once our eyes locked unintentionally, he glared once, intensely at me. I forgot how to blink. And then he was turning around, and was walking away. Once I remembered to breathe again, I walked after him, a little uncertain on my feet, with the odd feeling that Sasuke wanted something from me. He walked briskly through the streets, and I followed. After a few streets, he whirled around, with an explosive, 'Are you going to follow me like a dog?!'

I got the message and scurried to his side. He grumpily carried on his pace. I dared speak.

'Where are you going?'

'To train.'

Of course. Like all little prodigies, that's all Sasuke lived for. His training. All well and good, but why did I have to come? I thought about asking him, but a look at Sasuke's quietly determined face told me otherwise. We left the city centre, and then the city itself. Sasuke broke into a run, and I ran with him. We sped in blurs to the training grounds – a large clearing. Three massive upright logs. I caught my breath, and then forced myself to look at Sasuke properly. There, he wasn't even hard pressed to breathe. Then again, he didn't feel as nervous as I did. He looked at me intensely again. And then, 'Let's fight.'

Anyone else, I'd have thought they were joking. Anyone else, I'd have run away from. But Sasuke's strangely deep and insistent voice was absolutely serious. He stepped forward, and his body arranged itself naturally into a fighting stance. As natural as breathing. As I hesitated, his eyes narrowed, and what looked like an eager smirk settled on his lips. I flinched, took a step back.

'No.'

'You scared?'

Childish words. Of course I was scared. Sasuke's eyes had a strange eagerness, a gleam I'd never seen before, not in our classmates, not in anyone our age. A predator's hungry eyes. And Sasuke, if I knew anything, was strong. Skilful. Merciless. This was crazy. What did he expect me to do? Instead of answering, I made to turn to leave. I heard the hiss, and the split second before the shuriken embedded itself deep inside the log I'd been standing beside. Centimetres from my face. I stared at the jagged, lethal edges, feeling Sasuke's eyes boring into my head. Sasuke was serious. This was the real deal, and I'd been dragged into this because I didn't know Sasuke well enough. I turned slowly. Suddenly my whole body felt like a live wire, felt tense as a coiled spring. Sasuke shook his head slowly, as if he pitied me. As if.

'I won't let you,' said Sasuke, softly.

He won't let me. Leave. Deadly concentration in his eyes. Without any warning he sprang at me. Pain exploded in my side as I side stepped a fraction of a second too late. I caught his second punch with my open fist, but was unprepared for his elbow flying at my head. I tried to duck, and with my free hand shoved Sasuke hard in his chest at the same time his elbow made contact with my head. We flew apart, me gasping with the shock, Sasuke already balanced, and rushing at me once more.

Fuck. He leapt, a silhouette in the sky. Before he could kick me down, I rose my arms around my head to guard myself, and then met him midblow with my own kick, sending us both off balance. He landed on top of me, and then what followed was a series of quick punches and kicks in precise and perfectly measured force on Sasuke's part, and wild guessing and desperate defence on mine. It ended with a neatly placed kick on my stomach, which had me flying several feet off, winded, and dazed, cradling myself. I realized that the hot trail running down my chin was my own blood. I watched the red drops on my inspecting finger with a fascinated horror. Sasuke stood before me, breathing lightly, hands still balled up. In the midst of my pain, I was aware of the hopelessness. Had I not managed to mark him even a little? He looked pristine, almost like I'd never managed to place a hit on him at all.

'You're weak.'

Sasuke's voice was quietly triumphant, coolly analytical, concluding. What had he expected? What had he honestly expected? My subconscious was screaming. Cocky bastard. I made no movement to disagree, still dazed on the grass, wondering at the pain in my stomach, and my head. The blood in my mouth. Sasuke stood in front of me, hands on hips now, contempt in his black eyes. I spat out the blood pooling behind my teeth. 'Come on. Let's do it for real.' For real? My mind slowly began to work again. I dragged myself back up.

'Stop it,' I managed to choke out. 'I don't want to fight.'

'That's because you can't,' snapped Sasuke. His usually deep voice cracks slightly. His chakra signature, I'm suddenly aware, is excited, crackling around him. I don't even stop to wonder why I suddenly know this, and then I see first shock, and then anticipation gather in Sasuke's eyes. He's outwardly calm, but his chakra spikes and swirls. He wants to fight, wants it badly. Then I realize why he is looking at me so intensely, with a strange mixture of anticipation and jealousy. Sasuke? Jealous? Jealous of my spinning red eyes that have activated without my consent?

'Your Sharingan is not going to help,' he intones, glaring at me with his eyes that have yet to become red with power. He dares me to get up. I do. I get up. I'm tired of Sasuke's shit, and I want to go home. I'm tired of Sasuke thinking I'm some jellyfish he can stomp around on. Come at me. The sting and swirl of Sharingan in my eyes has woken me, strengthened me. The taste of blood on my tongue seems to spur me on. Sasuke hasn't seen half the things I can do, I think. I grit my teeth.

Come at me.

Brat.

He does.

It's almost too easy. I can see what he will do, I can see where he is going. I know exactly which muscle will move, and where it is aiming, and blocking and deflecting is as easy as brushing one's teeth. I follow his movements, and then we're in sync, completely equal. He punches, I block, he aims, I deflect. And then I plunge forward. Blocking each of his own blows, I add my own, in between and halfway, until I'm punching Sasuke hard in the stomach, kneeing him in the head, using my arms to fold him in two, and then kicking him several feet off. It's finished in less than five seconds. I read the shock, the anger. My Sharingan blazes the backs of my eyes, and I'm aware of my shoulders shaking with excitement. His chakra falters, stabilises, goes dizzy with suppressed rage. I can see his own blood now, rising to his skin in the bruise I have given him. I read the intention in his eyes, and then we're doing the hand seals in sync, and even as he opens his mouth, my own is moving.

'Katon: Goukakyuu no jutsu!'

As I leap away to gain altitude, I let the searing heat gathering in my chest release and flow and stream through my parted lips. I direct this towards Sasuke's own fireball, but he is too late, too late, and my flames engulf his, and then I can't see anything because of the blinding light. An explosion when the two massive fireballs collide.

'Sasuke!'

I gasp, once I'm on my feet again. My mind spins at what I have just done, this isn't right, I should have used a water jutsu, I shouldn't have fought him in earnest, I can't use fireballs for no other reason than Sasuke's attitude, his inferiority complex and a petty fight! Racked with worry, I dash into the clearing, flames dotting the area. When Sasuke emerges from the smoke, glistening with sweat, and smelling of charred fabric, but otherwise unharmed, I am relieved, but then I see the murderous look in his eyes before he launches at me again. I shout and cry for him to stop, knowing that the fight is mine, knowing how painful it will be for him if I win. He doesn't. I block and retaliate, wanting to end this, knowing that he will not. Deflect. Deflect.

He's breathing heavily, teeth gritted, eyes cold in his young face. I concentrate, and then I attack for the first time. Blocking his onslaught, I find an opening and push him as hard as I can to get him away from me without hurting him. He flies several feet, as I stumble forward. I hear his heavy landing, the way his head makes an odd sound colliding with the ground. He's not hurt much, but he lies there for a moment. I may have knocked the air out of him. I walk towards him. He tries to sit up. I kneel down and try to help him up, but as soon as I touch the skin of his arm, he's dashed my hand away. I flinch back, breathing quickly, even though I have won, even though I have hurt him. He finally manages to sit up, and his eyes close momentarily at the pain as he does so. When he opens them again, they're full of the coldest deepest hatred, and my throat dries up. His black eyes nail me down under his fringe. I shuffle away once more. He gets up shakily. Without another glance back, he walks, knees unstable, away from the now smoldering remains of the clearing.

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I got back to the flat some time afterwards. After Sasuke's departure, I had sat down on the burnt grass, wondering what I had just done. Sasuke. Konoha's number one rookie. Most talented out of Konoha's Ninja Academy . I'd just kicked him figuratively in the ass, and spat fire at him. Not so figuratively. I dreaded the walk to the Uchiha flat. I desperately did not want to face an butt-hurt Sasuke, and his aniki angry at his otouto getting hurt by a little freak with a madman for a nonexistent parent. In the first 48 hours I'd known them.

Guiltily, I came in through the door of the flat, hardly raising my head above my shoulders, holding my breath, trying not to make any more noise than needed. The living room was empty. I slowly let my breath out of my mouth, shoulders slumping down. Immediately hitching up again once Sasuke entered. He saw me and froze. For a moment, it was just us looking blankly at each other, with eyes too locked on each other's to have any emotion other than shock. It lasted for only a moment, before Sasuke's eyes lost their intensity, and took on their casual hostility. The hairs prickled on the back of my neck, and I suppressed a shiver down my spine. A door opened, and Itachi sauntered in, and then looked at the two of us. At Itachi's arrival, Sasuke glanced away from me, and his mouth curled in a twist of distaste. What was clear from Itachi's knowing glances from Sasuke to me was that he knew that something was up. He lifted up an arm and tried to place it on Sasuke's shoulder, but Sasuke shrugged it off impatiently, and in a flash of blue and black fury, turned and left, as quickly as he had come. A pause. Itachi's hand hovering in space slowly dropped back to his side. His eyes seemed focused on the little space Sasuke had occupied. Hoping perhaps to distract his attention in some other way, Itachi turned to me. A once over from those practiced eyes probably confirmed in his mind what Sasuke and I had been doing – a blood clot on my lower lip, tell-tale traces of blood on my mouth and cheek, a faint shoe mark on the fabric covering my stomach, the skin of my lower lip slightly charred by a hasty fire jutsu, the Sharingan bright and anxious in my eyes.

Itachi raises a hand to my face. I stand, frozen, as with his fingers he very carefully picks a blade of grass from my hair and lets it drop. I watch the single bit of green float to the ground and dirty the expensive tatami mat. As if he has just touched fire, Itachi jerks his hand away, and takes an uncertain step backwards. Coolly, he turns his back and goes the same way as his brother, leaving me alone with the single blade of grass on the floor. He hadn't said a word.


	9. Chapter 9

Senju Hashirama was dreaming. No – not a dream. Just his imagination working overdrive to try and turn his thoughts into a dream, trying to turn what was now no more than smoke into flesh and blood, within reach of his fingers… Hashirama breathed out shakily into his pillow, and reached out across the bed to touch… cold sheets. His heart sank, and then, unable to trick himself any longer, he sat up abruptly and blinked away the sleep from his eyes. He was alone in his double bed. Figures. Mito never sleeps here anymore. Hashirama suddenly became confusedly angry, angry at Mito, angry at himself, angry at how beaten up and tired he felt, angry at…

Hashirama paused, gazing blankly at the empty space next to him. A space which should have been warm and shifting, weighed down with a solid body. Hair splayed across the pillow, not the violent red of Mito's strands, but black as night, spilling across and tickling Hashirama's cheek. Hashirama's heart twisted at the same time his belly stung with longing. His tried to keep his thoughts away from forbidden areas such as these, but couldn't stop, like always. If only, if only the clock could be turned back. A few years… scratch that, all the way back to when Konoha was only the foundations on which eager builders were working hard. When all was new and brimming with hope, when Madara and he had shook hands and ended the lifelong war tearing up the land. And…. And… Hashirama's throat burned. His hand curled into the blanket, holding it in an aching fist. The time when he had courted Madara, who was as dangerous and intoxicating as a drug, a firebrand you wanted to touch but could not hold for long without getting burnt. Without dropping it. Hashirama felt the overpowering sense of loss take hold. No, no… back to those thoughts. Lovers. His lover. His lover Madara. The day he first kissed him, and how Madara had pushed him away. The pain and passion and longing overhanging those days when he sought and sighed after the man he thought would never touch him back.

And – Hashirama screwed his eyes shut. His breaths came feverishly, passionately. The nights of heat, unbridled lust. Madara's marble and sinuous body bent under his weight, the memory of nails raked down his back, of teeth on his shoulder, hands tugging on his hair, Hashirama gasping and thrusting into his lover, his Madara, Madara laid out bare and for once even vulnerable underneath him, his to have, his to keep. Even now… He could remember those nights. Even days, the illicit encounters – Madara pushed against the wall of the Uchiha compound while the other Uchiha tried to ignore the sounds of their leader getting fucked hard by the Shodaime Hokage, Madara bent over the Hokage's desk, spilling scrolls and important daimyo documents all over the floor, Madara riding him on a rare and starless night outside on the cold grass, steam rising off their bodies, Madara with his head hanging back, exposing the pale flesh of his throat, while Hashirama reached up to his beautiful lover, so beautiful, so devastating, and moaned out his name, dying slowly in the throes of passion –

Hashirama growled then, in his bedroom, messing up his blankets, tearing them away from his hot and stifled body in a riot of white. He breathed heavily, his cock already half-hard, not through anything else but the thought of Madara, whom he had not seen for five years. Hashirama knew he wasn't being himself. He knew that what he was now wasn't what he was usually – the all-powerful, all understanding, kind and generous Shodaime Hokage of Konohagakure – a god of a shinobi, as he had been called. Right now, he felt selfish, lustful and resentful at the cage his title had come to be. How he had to pretend everything was alright, that he knew what he was doing, that he was still strong, still able – who the hell was he kidding? Tobirama knew – he could tell with the way he sometimes asked, casually, how Hashirama was sleeping, whether he was well. And if Hashirama couldn't look him in his stern red eyes, then less gently, shaking him by the shoulders, demanding what was it now. He knew Tobirama meant well, but he couldn't tell Tobirama. Tobirama and Madara had never even attempted to break the heavy walls of hatred and resentment between them, however much Hashirama tried, however much Hashirama loved the two of them. Madara's regard for Tobirama had died the second Uchiha Izuna took his last breath. Tobirama's impressions of Madara were dashed to the dirt the second Hashirama had taken his own sword and prepared to kill himself at Madara's behest – 'Kill yourself or your brother. Then, there shall be peace.' Tobirama hated Madara for the hold he had over Hashirama, the evil enchantment Tobirama supposed Hashirama was cast under.

Sorry Tobirama, thought Hashirama, dressing hastily, leaving his hitai-ite behind. Grabbing a mask, he quickly covered his lower face with it. It wouldn't do for the Hokage to be seen wandering the streets at midnight. He left his room, and ghosted through the corridors of the compound, not making a sound, and he got out of there. A Hokage leaving home as if he was a wanted criminal, thought Hashirama, as he landed gracefully outside the wall, safe outside. He breathed out, and then breathed in the cool night air, which only served to fire up the aching desire and loneliness that had been choking him indoors. This time he apologised in his head to Mito. And then he found himself slipping guiltily but sure-footedly away to a place he'd visited far too many times of late. Every time he found his nights sucked away into the merciless red eyes and a face he shouldn't but couldn't stop chasing after.

No words were needed, when he entered the secretive and luxurious building. The old woman fronting the shady business seemed to know who he was, despite the fact that he always came in masked. Perhaps she pitied him. Perhaps that's why Hashirama always got the prettiest girls, the ones most skilful at pouring tea, and playing soft and thrilling music. The ones with the haunting eyes. The best in bed… But not always girls… Hashirama's heart thudded as he remembered one time he had found that one of the ones serving him one night was a boy, and boy with lush black hair, and a slender frame. He had taken him that night, in a frenzy of passion, pretending that it was another's teenage body he had crushed under his weight… He was ushered into a room with a low table, with soft lighting. As soon as he'd sat down, immediately four beautiful young creatures in kimonos and hair pinned up to expose napes and throats floated through the door bearing tea, and musical instruments. Hashirama searched their faces eagerly, but felt a tang of disappointment. The boy from before was not there. A golden haired girl was pouring him tea, smiling invitingly into Hashirama's face, hazel eyes unsettlingly seductive in her young teenage face. Hashirama accepted the tea, but his eyes strayed from the blonde's face, to a redhead plucking on an instrument with slender fingers. He averted his eyes from her, reminded too much of Mito to be comfortable. A girl with hazel hair and dimples was swaying down to sit by him, brushing his shoulder with a scented sleeve, asking breathily what he wished… Hashirama locked eyes with the last girl, hair like a ravens, eyes troubled, beautiful lip bitten, and his heart threatened to leap out and engulf her. She slipped down and settled beside the hazel haired one, who was chatting animatedly with him, but he could hardly listen. He locked eyes with her again, and she twisted awkwardly under his gaze, and shied away, as if angry. The smiles on the other girls' faces froze in place, while they sent mental warnings to the dark haired girl to behave. Hashirama guessed that she was new to the…. Business. He reached out and laid his fingertips to her cheek. She looked up hesitantly, her skin thrumming and trembling under Hashirama's touch, her flight and fight impulses struggling to remain under control. The other girls sensed that Hashirama had found the girl he wanted and quietly got up and melted away, shutting the door closed behind them. Hashirama hardly felt them leave. He was sinking into the girls mistrustful, troubled black eyes, and found in them something similar to how Madara would look at him, before they were lovers, before he let himself go a little more. The girl's knuckles were clenched white. He let her cheek go. She looked scared, proud, and angry at once, but most of all, dreading what was going to happen to her. Hashirama groaned inside his mind – why didn't he just go for the others who would show him a good time, instead of going for the uneasy girl who is scared shitless of him, just because she has black hair and dark eyes?! He knew why… It was because she was just as haughty and hostile as Madara had been. And Hashirama wanted that. He wanted something he needed to coax and fight for.

He shrugged his cloak off. The girl prostitute watched the heavy fabric slip to the floor with a guarded expression, her hands clenching onto her kimono. Hashirama shifted away to give her some space. He watched her face, as she watched him reach up behind his head and untie his mask. It fell into his lap. She gasped before she could help it. Hashirama smiled, rather tiredly. She was probably mentally matching his face to the other gigantic face on the mountainside of the Shodaime Hokage, leader of Konoha. He held a fingertip to his lips.

'Shh…'

She nodded, numbly, mouth open but empty of words. He asked silently for permission before touching her face again, slipping his hand down her neck and shoulder, down one arm. Her face had changed, more full of shock than anything else…. And a sort of awe… Hashirama felt sick. He didn't want her to think of him as a title, as 'god of a shinobi', just flesh and blood, just a person seeking love. He wanted her previous resistance, he wanted to coax her like he had to do to Madara. He took the girl by the shoulders, and leant in and captured her young mouth. He opened up beneath his like a flower, and he could feel fear mixed with excitement humming through her blood. She tensed up slightly when he moved to open her kimono, but when he stopped, she told him to go on, her low voice thrilling him to the bone. Pale, young, untouched flesh. Untouched? Hashirama wondered if he could spy the ghosts of bitemarks on the girl's shoulders and neck. A wave of possessiveness took over him, over the prostitute. Bizarre, but Hashirama could not bring himself to care. He shut out Tobirama's annoying righteous voice telling him to stop, get out of there, and be a good husband to Mito, but let himself carry on. He latched gently at first onto the girls neck, but then more roughly, wanting to mark her, temporarily if not permanently. Her heartbeat span wildly like a captured bird's. With a sharp tug, the kimono came off completely like a cicada shedding its skin. She shivered from the loss, and also from the impossible heat radiating off Hashirama's hands as he ran them down her arms, her back, she shivered at the feeling of her ruler biting her shoulder, her young breast. Hashirama, without once removing his mouth or hands off the girl's body, manoeuvred them to the blankets to the side. The girl once again looked afraid, but this time there was eagerness, a sort of wild passion and desire she had properly not felt before, young as she was. Hashirama wanted to be the one this particular girl first felt true passion and desire for, he wanted to leave an indelible mark on her brain time would not erase. He took her hesitant hands and laid them on his chest, and closed his eyes to the feeling of small, deft hands slowly undressing him, his own arousal kept in check through excruciating self control. He bit his lip to keep down his moan once the cooler air spun around his now bare body, his cock hard and aching. He used his last bit of self control to open his eyes. He reached behind the girl's head and plucked out the chopsticks pinning it up. He watched the cascade of black hair waterfalling down her back and shoulders, and that sight alone made him lose it.

Hashirama descended on the girl like a hurricane, and instead of being completely alienated and afraid, the girl accepted it, and swam with him through the passage of passion. She looked frightened when Hashirama touched her knees and parted them, but when Hashirama kissed them and breathed slowly down the inside of her thighs, her tensed up body relaxed, and she shuddered when she felt his lips ghosting down her legs. He took off her underwear slowly, exposing the pale, perfect flesh of the prostitute beneath him, the body of a fifteen year old girl. He crushed the pang of guilt under the newfound desire – her body looked good enough to eat. He sank his teeth gently into the side of her stomach, and felt her sigh over his head, and her fingers lock into his hair.

Judging from the wince he got when he first touched the girl between the legs, her previous experiences of sex had probably been painful, violent, and pleasurably for the man only. Hashirama felt fleetingly guilty once again, but he worked his fingers until the girl jerked once, tossing her head to the side, breathing erratically, her black hair tossed and mussed around her upper body. He stroked her clitoris once more, and when he placed his tongue on it, the girl took a sharp intake of breath, and her thighs grew taut beside his head. This time, Hashirama decided, the girl would experience the proper pleasure of sex. She was tight, but Hashirama worked on loosening her gently, preparing her, even as he ached to lose himself inside her, inside this hot tightness. He took her when she was on her back, her dark eyes screwed shut, her mouth red and open. He braced for the excruciating sensation, and then gently, slowly pushed in. He kept touching her clitoris constantly, so that when the pain came, it would ebb and pass under the throes of pleasure, so that when she winced or bit her lip, the next moment she would toss her head side to side and sigh quietly, her nails digging deeper into Hashirama's ribs. Once he had entered as fully as he could, he let her know the rhythm of their bodies, rocking them gently back and forth, even though he wanted to go faster, wanted to fuck her into the floor with abandon, he stopped himself, unwilling to hurt her. But, dammit, it was getting harder and harder not to, especially when the pain for the girl stopped and the pleasure grew, and when she tightened her thighs around his hips and pushed. The girl leaned forwards desperately and Hashirama kissed her. Her panting and her raking nails told him she wanted him to go faster. So he did.

Hashirama panted, sweat breaking out over his body, bent over the girl's flushed body, thrusting ever harder and faster. As his vision swam when the sensations of his arousal mixed in with the real world, he imagined it was Madara… and for a few seconds he could believe it. He reached down and took a lock of black hair into his mouth, biting hard. The smell was different, the shape of the body was softer and fuller, the thighs locked around him less lean and muscular, but for the first time, Hashirama felt peace in the raging passion. He was making love to Madara. Madara. Madara. Those few seconds of belief was enough to make him come, and he came, violently, raggedly, even as he was dimly aware of the girl also having her own orgasm, clenching tighter and tighter around him, as if she never wanted to let go. He collapsed on top of her, face in her neck and hair. The vision slowly dispersed as the world came back into reality. Not that it was a particularly bad reality – the girl's body was soft and pliant under his, and he shifted to the side so that he wouldn't crush her under his weight. He thought of his sperm inside her body, and apologetically ran his fingers down the girl's ribs. She settled beside him, shyly accepting his caresses. He propped himself up by an elbow, and gave her a lingering kiss, running his tongue over her lips and inside, running his tongue inside the shell of her ear, the pulse point beneath her jaw. He allowed himself to remain for a few minutes, just slowly drinking in the girl's body, relaxing, letting his heartbeat return to normal. But his time was running out. He'd already lingered there too long. He gently placed the girl's clothes over her body, covering her nakedness. He heard her stir behind him and he put on his own clothes, put on his cloak, picked up his mask again.

'Sir…'

He turned. The girl had put on her robe, holding it closed. Her eyes shifted as he met them, but she carried on. 'If… If you ever…' A blush appeared, and she lowered her eyes. 'You can ask for Naoko.'

Ah. She was telling him that she wanted to see him again, if she could. Hashirama's heart grew heavy, even as he smiled at the girl. How many pure young souls had he deflowered? His guilt was already in the red marks all over her torso, his semen running down her thigh. He could never be good to her. He was just the fantasy, the girl's living dream – being the illicit lover of the most powerful man in Fire Country. Her own Hokage fucking her into the floor.

'You were beautiful tonight,' he uttered, as if they had just performed a perfect dance together. In a way, they had. He placed the mask over his face, and drank in the sight of long black hair, mussed with love, over the slender collarbones and shoulders of the girl. Then, he left vanishing into the night, leaving her there, still wondering, still hoping.


End file.
